Kill For You
by ShhUrDead678
Summary: John started hitting Sam when he was only thirteen. A year later, Dean finds out the hard way. Will he rid Sam of his father? Is it too late to undo the damage? Limp!Sam14, Pissed!Dean18
1. Chapter 1

**LOVE U LIKE MY PET FISH FLUFFY!!!!  
**P.S.- i don't have a pet fish **=O**

**ENJOY! **

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He awoke slowly, entering the land of the living once more, sadly. The sunlight hit him like a thousand bricks. The soreness he felt washed over him as he suppressed a groan. He opening my eyes slowly, cautiously, making sure his gaze strayed away from the window.

He had somehow ended up on the bed. Dad must have carried him. Not that John cared if he slept; it was so that Dean wouldn't get skeptical.

He attempted a move toward getting out of bed. His back seared from the pain. He tried moving slower, if that were possible, and seemed to lessen the pain as he got up.

Sweat was still glistening on Sam's forehead. He wiped it off with the back of his arm and made a move toward the bathroom. The door was shut, a yellow light appearing from beneath the door.

Seeing as the bathroom was occupied, he walked toward the kitchen, scared out of his wits when he saw Dad, no, _John, _sipping a cup of coffee. So Dean was in the bathroom.

In other words, he was alone.

"Good morning, son." Sam winced at John's blissful greeting. None of it was real. It meant nothing. It was all a show, just in case, at any moment, Dean was to walk into the kitchen.

"Morning" he replied sluggishly, putting an effort to reel back his pain and anger. How could a father physically beat his own child? Who does that? Sam didn't have to think twice about that question. On no level could it be considered challenging in the slightest.

John does that.

At only fourteen he's already become used to drinking lots of coffee. If he didn't he wouldn't have enough energy to get through the day. His father made his life a living hell, keeping him up nearly all hours.

However, he had to give his father a _little_ credit. The only time he was ever hit was when he did something erroneous. Sadly, in his father's eyes, everything about him was wrong. His posture, his attitude toward hunts, his flawless ability to screw up a hunt, _him_. Everything was wrong. No matter how hard he tried, he could never be like Dean, the perfect boy who could murder a hundred innocent people and his father still be proud of him.

Sam let a small sigh escape his lips as he made a move toward the coffee. He moved his feet robotically toward the coffee maker, and, without thought, reached out with his right hand. Sam hissed from the pain as he remembered how beat up that arm was. He cringed, bringing his arm toward his chest, making sure not bend it anymore. It was probably sprained, if not broken.

"You better hide all that pain of yours when Dean comes" John said apathetically; yet, behind that heir of indifference Sam could see the animosity in his words, the way he nearly spat out the words in such a fear-provoking manner.

"Yes sir." Sam, still cradling his right arm to his chest, reached out with his left arm and began his daily routine of getting himself coffee. Once he had a cup, he added a dot of sugar before stirring it around. Finally, he put the cup to his lips and drank slowly, the lethargic heir he had slowly leaving him.

Dean finally finished up in the shower and headed into the kitchen.

"Sorry I took so long. I kinda used up all the hot water" Dean gave the two a sheepish look.

"It's fine, Dean. Sam wasn't going to take a shower anyway and I took mine earlier this morning." Sam's face fell. When had he John allowed to say something on his behalf. He could speak for himself.

"It's cool, Dean. Don't worry about it." Dean gave Sam a grin and ruffled his long, chocolate brown locks before heading over to the TV set. He sat down on the broken down chair, got ready to throw his legs on the table in front of him, when he stopped in midair. He turned back around.

"Sammy, why are you wearing a hoodie, it's February?"

Sam hesitated irresolutely. That was _totally _unexpected. When had he become observant?

"I'm just a little cold, that's all." Dean shrugged indifferently and turned back to the TV, flinging his legs on the table.

Damn, he didn't even get coffee.

Sam went to go sit by Dean when a hand grabbed hold of his right arm. He let out a silent scream as the pain washed over him once more. Was he the only one who cared about his well-being?

John had tugged on Sam's arm, not caring how much it hurt, and dragged him into his bedroom.

"What are you tryin' to do, boy?" he asked, his voice hushed. He let go of Sam's arm, viciously throwing it around, sending the boy with it. Sam landed on the ground with a small thud, his size barely making a noise as it was flung to the ground like a rag doll. He whimpered as he landed on his right arm. Again.

Sam didn't dare move; for one, it hurt to move his arm in any manner, and two, John would move him for him. As was predicted, John grabbed him by the collar, pulling him up till his feet were nearly a foot off the ground. He felt his arm scream out from the pain, but it was definitely a background sensation. John's deadly eyes locked on with Sam's, momentarily stunning him. They were black, but not like that of a demon. His eyes were usually a hazel color, but not it was the same color as his pupils. Sam gulped. What was he supposed to do?

"What are you tryin' to do boy?" he asked again, his voice sending warning to Sam's brain. He was pissed.

They listened as footsteps came their way. John quickly dropped Sam, catching him off-guard as he fell to the floor. Luckily, his pained arm strayed away from the floor, allowing him to let out a small sigh of relief. However, he still felt the pain in his back as he fell, which for the most part, he was willing to endure.

Dean peaked his head from outside the door, curiosity evident.

"Whatcha doin'?" Dean asked, coming out from behind the door, raising an eyebrow.

"I was teaching Sammy here a few more defensive techniques." He said it so smoothly that nobody except Sam could doubt him. John had become such a good liar. Somehow, however, Sam had always been able to see through his lies. Maybe it's because he's the only one that knows the real John.

"Oh, that's cool" he said, giving a bright smile to Sam. "You holding up, Sammy?" Sam gave a tentative nod. He initiated his move to sit up, but his back didn't seem to welcome the progress. He let out a groan as his back throbbed.

Dean appeared next to him as he helped Sam to his feet. "Damn, little guy, you sure took a beating."

_You have no idea._

"Thanks" Sam replied sarcastically. "I appreciate the comfort that I got my ass whipped. That's the brotherly love I'm talking about." Dean let out a laugh as he made the move to pick up Sam.

"Wow dude, what the heck are you doing?" Dean continued to grin as he picked him up bridal style and took him into the kitchen. He heard Sam mutter something about "his damn faggot of a brother." Dean chuckled as he sat down, putting his brother in his lap.

"Are you kidding? Is this some kind of joke cause it sure as hell ain't funny." Sam gave Dean an 'Are you fucking crazy' stare before he started to squirm, attempting to get out of Dean's hold.

"Oh, come on now, I gotta take care of my baby brother, don't I?"

"I'm fourteen!" he said, his attempt at escape futile. He continued to struggle, Dean still holding firmly onto Sam's waist.

As Sam grew more erratic, Dean moved his arms to take hold of Sam's, laughing all the way. However, when he heard Sam's gasp, he immediately frowned.

"Let me go!" Dean immediately complied as Sam nearly fell out of Dean's lap. Sam cradled his arm to his chest, breathing heavily.

Dean got out of the chair hurriedly, standing next to Sam, rubbing his back. "Hey, man, you okay? Damn, Dad must've knocked the shit out of you." A small laugh escaped Sam's lips.

"You have no idea."

Dean smiled back in response, thinking his scrawny brother couldn't handle John's too rough training.

After Sam had relaxed a bit, Dean looked at Sam's arm intently. He held it protectively, making sure not to hurt it further. Sam shied away.

"I'm fine Dean. It probably just twisted the wrong way. It'll be fine by tomorrow." Dean gave an unsure nod, stopping his inspection.

He lunged at Sam again, being careful for Sam's arm, and picked him up. He sat back on the chair, bringing Sam with him.

"Are you serious?! Again?" Sam shrieked, laughing. Dean, amused that Sam hadn't put up much of a fight, began petting Sam's head playfully. Sam flung his hand away, knocking it off his head.

"Oh, come on, Sammy. Don't be like that."

"Man, you're a queer."

Dean gave a hardy laugh, and Sam joined in. Sam may have the worst dad, but he definitely had the best brother, without question. He continued to sit in Dean's lap as they watched TV the rest of the morning.

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Hope u guys liked it!!!! Don't know how many people will like the idea of John being evil but i think it was a good start. let me know what u guys think about it and I'll continue!!!!!

**REVIEW OR BEWARE THE WRATH OF THE FINGER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!**


	2. Chapter 2

Hope you guys had a great Christmas!! This is my Christmas present to you all!!!! Hope u like it!!

LUV YA!!!!!!!!!!

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That afternoon did not end nearly as well as the previous hours. Sam, reluctantly, continued sitting in Dean's lap as they watching random shows on TV. Neither paid full attention to the show, mainly just taking in each other's presence. From his peripheral vision, Sam watched John moving around; he could almost _feel_ the man's anger from across the room.

John stopped his rapidity, and Sam saw him turn slowly toward them.

"Hey, boys, enough TV. Sitting on your lazy asses won't get us anywhere." Sam let out a small groan, whether his father heard it he was not sure. His father has been looking for Mary, Sam's mother, ever since she died in the fire. She had died when he was young, so young he remembers nothing about her, only getting fragments of her life from pictures. She had died above his crib, killed by the monster that was essentially after Sam.

This was one of the many reasons he believed John hated him. He must have believed Sam had killed her. In reality, when all the dust has settled, it _was_ his fault. The monster was after him, having no need for his mother. However, However, he had done nothing for the monster actually _want_ him. Though he could have done nothing to stop it, he still, to a degree, blames himself for her death.

Sam got off Dean as he trudged toward their father, not once looking him in the eye.

"All right, you two, we're going to try something different today."

_Shit._

"Finally, almost everything we do it's the same thing _over _and _over _and _o-_"

"Dean."

"Right."

That shut Dean up quick.

"Okay. I feel you all are old enough to try and take me on-"

"Hell yeah! Ain't that right, Sam, we can take him!"

Sam continued watching. Dean seemed cocky, obviously thinking it would be a a walk in the park to take his father on. John just stood there, a small smile on his face. Evidently, whatever was going through Dean's mind was not going through John's.

"Now, Dean, calm down. You only have it half right." John walked outside, expecting the two Winchesters to follow. They walked a ways until they strode into a broad, expansive field, filled with monkey grass, giving it the look of a meadow.

"Okay, what _I_ meant was, you two will fight me separately." Dean stood there, quietly pondering the restriction of his little brother. It very possibly could be an equal fight. The two would just throw punches until the pass out, probably dropping around the same time. Dean likes to think that he and John are now on the same level when it comes to brawns.

Sammy, however, he wasn't so sure. He was only fourteen, and quite small. He was, without a doubt, the brains of the family. His research ability was stupendous. Though he was very strong for his age, he wasn't sure he could take on his father. Actually, now that he considered it more, his father could knock the shit out of him within minutes. Dean didn't like the idea in the slightest; however, if their father thought it was a good training technique, then it must be very effective.

Even if reluctant, Dean accepted playing by their father's rules. Dean's mind was now set on the game, while Sam's was elsewhere. This was most definitely John's plan to get his head on a platter, stuffing his mouth with a red, juicy apple. He could see where this game ended, and it wasn't a pretty sight.

_Oh Jesus._

"So, what do you think? Is it a deal?"

"Hell yeah!" Dean said, pumping his fists in the air, his hyperactive body begging for a fight. John caught a quick glance at Sam as their eyes locked, even if but for a moment. In that moment, Sam saw malice, a furiousness so big he thought it would engulf. He had to have done _something_ to deserve that look, and it scared the shit out of him. He recounted the day's events, not finding anything he particularly screwed up in. He gulped. Not knowing what he did was even worse.

"You know, Dean, I'd like to start out with Sam this time."

He whined. "Oh fine!" Sam watched as Dean deflated, but knew his turn would come eventually, and headed over to his little brother.

"All right, Sam, you know what to do. Size doesn't matter. What for an opening and strike hard." Dean gave Sam a small smile. He could see how Sam could be frightening to go against their father, who is probably Sam's size tripled. He could also see himself having to break up the fight, their dad getting so into the moment he would forget it was his son he was fighting.

Dean gulped, he had to stay mentally prepared, just in case Sammy got himself into a bit of trouble along the way.

Dean watched as Sam stepped forward hesitantly, subconsciously biting on his lower lip. Dean eased him forward, muttering words of encouragement.

Sam's eyes hardened as he locked onto his father's once more, which were looking impossibly scarier than last time. This was his chance. He could finally get back at his father for all the thing's he'd done to him. All the physical abuse had taken its toll on him, his body now seeming weary all the time, which caused him to move slower on hunts than the rest of them, which, in turn, created more punishment for himself. How much longer he could take the hard treatment, he was not sure.

How he would win this fight, he was not too sure either.

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Sorry it took so long for me to update! I guess this could be my Christmas present to you guys!! Christmas Day is a rough day to write on, but the next update will be longer! I will be at my grandparent's house Friday, Saturday, and possibly Sunday. On Monday, I will try and update. Looking over the chapter and fixing any problems takes a bit of time but I'll hurry it up a bit. I'm excited to get this story to its climax!!!

HOPE U ALL HAD A GREAT CHRISTMAS!!!!! I sure as heck did, I got an iPhone(I had already had an iTouch, but I'm giving that to my mom), Disturbed and many other CDs, lots of candy, lots of clothes, _lots_ of earrings, and speakers for my iPhone. I got a few other things here and there but those were the main things =)

Hope u guys Christmas was _even _better!! LUV YA!!!!!

I really enjoy reading everyone's reviews so _please_ let me know what you think!! I want to know if I should continue or not……….

**REVIEW OR BEWARE THE WRATH OF THE FINGER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hope you like it!!! U MUST REVIEW!!!!! ****No**** buts! I have GOT to know what u guys think!!!!**

_**I LOVE YOU GUYS AS MUCH AS I LOVE MY PET FISH FLUFFY!!!!!!!!  
**_P.S- I do not have a fish **=O**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. If I did, well, let's not get into that….. =]**

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Sam got into a fighting stance, his strategic mind already thinking of all the moves he should try, and at what times to use them. He knew that, if he wanted a chance to win, he would have to be tactical, every move synchronized perfectly. His chances were slim to none, but he was not giving up.

It was knowing you would lose, yet continuing to fight, that confirmed one's valor and fortitude. So, going on that, he would not back down.

Thus, as he watched the battle about to begin, he knew he had to prove his worthiness. Not only to his father, but to himself.

"Ready?" John asked, barely containing the sadistic smile creeping onto his lips. Sam gave him a smile on his own, his smile widening as his father's faltered slightly at Sam's boldness. John's eyes grew incredibly more violent as he charged toward Sam. Sam was a bit taken aback by John's indignation but recovered swiftly, barely managing to dodge his father's punch. He threw a punch of his own, making contact with John's cheek and, though his strength was nothing compared to his father's, he was more than aware that would leave a bruise.

John recuperated instantaneously, the punch fueling his anger. In the back of his mind, he was well-aware of Dean cheering him on. He inwardly smirked as he and John continued fighting for first place. John landed a kick into Sam's gut, knocking the breath out of him. He fell to the ground, and got to his feet, staggering slightly. He held a hand to his stomach, rubbing it subconsciously as he kept his eyes on John. Once he fully regained his sense of balance he lunged toward John.

John watched Sam coming toward him and knew it was over. Sam threw punches toward John left and right but he dodged the brunt of them, only a few blows getting a solid hit. John grabbed Sam's fist in midair, and began twisting it violently. Sam screamed, using his other hand to claw on John's face and neck, a futile attempt to end John's wrath.

John's irritation increased as Sam clawed him relentless. He had had enough. He managed to grab Sam's other wrist, leaving Sam vulnerable, yet also leaving John open for attack. John did not allow Sam to use this opening, however, and kneed Sam ferociously in the crotch. Sam gasped loudly, the pain making him collapse to the ground. Sam struggled to get back up, but a foot on his chest heeded his movement. It pressed down harder on his back, making a moan escape Sam's mouth. He heard Dean rush over, but John stopped him immediately.

"Back up, Dean, this isn't your fight. Let me handle this, I know what I'm doing." He listened a few moments, until he heard Dean's footsteps slowly recede back to where he stood previously.

Sam grabbed onto John's foot fruitlessly attempting to heave it off his chest, only resulting in the foot being pressed down harder than before. He cried out, the pain overwhelming his senses.

He could not allow his father to win. Not this fast. He had barely stood a chance against his father _and_ his brother. He was the weak one of the Winchester clan, rarely ever being capable of handling a hunt on his own.

He felt tears sting his eyes as he pondered over his uselessness. They would get along better _without_ him. All he has ever done was get himself hurt, causing Dean to get all protective over Sam, not allowing him to do his job as efficiently. That could also be one reason why John hates him. He is worth more to Dean than the hunt, making him the cause of any disturbance during a hunt.

He felt the foot being removed from his chest as his restrictions were lessened. His father looked down at his son gravely, wholly disappointed. He grunted in disapproval as he walked away, toward Dean.

Sam tried getting to his feet, only to fall back down again, his whole body searing from the pain. He wondered where Dean was, but realized John had probably held him back, confining him. He bit on his lip angrily as a new wave of tears threatened his vision. He would _not _cry in front of John. Though he had overpowered the fight, he would not lose what little was left of his dignity, though he _was_ never expected to win anyway.

Sam managed to get to his feet, his hand cradling his side all the while. He breathed heavily, each breath getting more excruciating. Dean had managed to weasel himself away from John as he walked promptly over to his baby brother.

"Hey kiddo, you okay? Where does it hurt?"

Sam wanted to answer him so bad, but his body wouldn't, _couldn't_, react from the soothing words. He stared at Dean wide-eyed, a tear at last escaping as it rolled down his cheek and onto his shirt.

One tear turned into many as they fell down against his will. Dean cradled Sam into his arms, putting Sam's head on his chest. "Hey Sammy, it's ok now. Dad didn't mean to, ok?" As Sam continued to cry as his body began to feel numb. He made no sounds as he softly cried into Dean's chest, and heard nothing. All he could hear was Dean's distorted words, so altered he could understand nothing. He just kept his head on Dean's chest, faintly aware of the hand rubbing his back, as he continued to shed hushed tears.

John's going to kill him for this.

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**I especially enjoyed writing this chapter and I hope u enjoy reading it!! Let me know if it's going too fast…NEED SOME INSIGHT PEOPLE, WORK WITH ME HERE**

Sorry, a bit shorter than I wanted...however, I SHALL update soon. I must also update my 2 other stories: "Waiting Hastily" and "Won't Back Down". I would love u for this lifetime _and _the next if you went and checked them out!! You might like one, if not both!! =)

By the way, check out my poll and let me know what u think!!!

HOPE U ALL HAD A GREAT CHRISTMAS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

**LUV YA!!!!!!!!!**

**REVIEW OR BEWARE THE WRATH OF THE FINGER!!!!!!!!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hope you like it!!! U MUST REVIEW!!!!! ****No**** buts! **

_**I LOVE YOU GUYS AS MUCH AS I LOVE MY PET FISH FLUFFY!!!!!!!!**_

P.S- I do not have a fish **=O**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. If I did, well, let's not get into that….. =]**

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John watched from a distance as Dean continued to comfort his youngest, watching with utter disgust.

Sam finally stopped crying, turning toward John reluctantly, the man's disappointment unmistakable. Sam rid Dean's chest of his head and positioned himself away from Dean, to Dean's bewilderment. He stepped away from Dean and wiped his eyes with his sleeve.

"Thanks Dean, I'm good now." Dean offered Sam a soft smile.

"Any day." Sam returned a small smile, his brother giving him a playful punch in the arm.

"All right, little guy, let's go home so we can look at those injuries of yours." Sam turned around, heading back to his father, with Dean behind him, his face immediately falling. Everything hurt, not one inch of his body went unscathed; all because of his father.

He looked down at the ground, ignoring his father's intent gaze, as he limped toward him, cradling his hand to his chest. Dean stood by him protectively, ready to catch him if the time came.

They walked back to the motel, John grunting every few minutes at the rate they were going. Sam kept his eyes on the ground, miserable, allowing his hair to cover his face.

Sam attempted to pick up his pace but only managed to gather more pain to his body. He stifled a groan, and felt a hand rest on the small of his back, offering comfort. A small, halfhearted smile grazed his lips as his thoughts drifted toward his brother. Dean has always been there for him. He would run to Hell and back for him. Sam could screw up in ways unimaginable and Dean would still be there to cover his tracks.

When they reached the motel room, Dean eased Sam onto the bed, and hurried to get the first-aid kit. He walked back over to Sam leisurely. Sam, knowing the drill, gingerly began to take off his shirt. Dean gasped, then, without delay, helped him take his arms out of the sleeves when he saw him having difficulties from the obvious pain.

Sam watched as Dean began to pale, his fists tightening into balls, his nails leaving red crescent marks on his palm. Sam was befuddled because, as he did this, he had been looking at Sam the whole time. He looked down confusedly to his chest, and gasped loudly. Everywhere on his chest was covered in bruises even his arms having several minor injuries. No wonder it hurt so damn much.

Dean got to work immediately. He began with checking Sam for broken and/or cracked ribs. He pressed four fingers in the center of his chest, with the thumbs spread outward, rubbing his ribs efficiently. His brows creased. Every time he felt a small crack in a rib he would hear Sam let out a small moan.

"Sorry, little guy, you got a few cracked ribs. And by the looks of it, you got some bruised ones, too." He offered Sammy a comforting smile as he began to wrap his ribs, carefully wounding the gauze around his small body.

"Okay, you think anything's broken?" Dean asked as he finished up Sam's ribs. He held up his hand tenderly.

"Possibly my..my hand. I don't know for sure. Could be the wrist." Dean held Sam's wrist in his hands delicately, carefully prodding his wrists. Sam hissed.

"Sorry, Sammy." He continued the movement, being impossibly more gentle as he checked for any sprain or break.

"Well, Sammy, Dad was pretty rough on ya. I think it's sprained." Sam watched as Dean's anger became more evident. He quickly masked his disapproval of his father.

"You know what to do, right?"

"What?" Sam asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"You know, that thing I taught you to use when you sprain your wrist."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Oh, _that._ The 'RICE' method." Dean beamed brightly.

In the RICE method you must rest the injured wrist and gradually use it when tolerated for 24-48 hours, then ice it for 20 minutes every two to three hours. The "C" in RICE stands for "compression", the "E" being "elevate".

Dean compressed, or applied pressure, to Sam's wrist by wrapping it up, making sure not too tighten it too much. He then gathered up all the pillows in the small motel and stacked them together next to Sam's side. Sam placed his wrist lightly on the stack of pillows, making sure it stayed elevated above his heart.

"Good, that's better." Dean, remembering the limp Sam had earlier, reached down to take Sam's foot. He twisted it at random intervals, testing how far he could go without causing pain.

"This hurt?" Dean asked, twisting Sam's foot to the left, then right.

"No, not really." Dean nodded slowly, now pointed Sam's foot in a downward position. Sam hissed lightly.

"That did." Dean began to wrap Sam's foot, thinking it was probably just twisted.

"Aight, kid, just try not to walk too much. It'll get better in a few days."

Sam offered Dean a small nod.

Now, what _else_ hurts?" Sam tensed suddenly, realizing his shirt was still off. A few days back John had whipped him with his belt after a particularly screwed-up hunt, leaving scratches all over his back. Fortunately, Dean hadn't gone behind him yet, but it was only a matter of time. Dean mistook the tension in Sam's muscles for a chill.

"You cold?"

"Yeah, it's a bit chilly. Can I have my shirt back?" Dean walked over to the couch where he had placed it on and flung it at Sammy.

"Thanks."

"Anytime. You sure you're good everywhere else?" Sam nodded as he began the process of putting on his shirt. Dean quickly walked over to Sam and helped get his arms through the sleeves. He pulled the shirt down, successfully putting on his shirt. Sam flushed.

"Umm…thanks."

"No prob." Dean, in search of John, headed off into the kitchen. "Let me know if you need anything." Sam nodded, after realizing Dean probably hadn't seen it, as he was facing the _opposite_ direction. Oh well.

He listened as Dean's footsteps receded into the kitchen. Obviously John and his brother were going to have a confrontation of some sort. He urged himself off the bed, keeping his sprained wrist above his heart, and limped toward the kitchen, stopping just before reaching the entrance.

Dean and John were standing side by side. They spoke in hushed whispers; not even Sam's unbelievable hearing could get him into the conversation. However, he didn't need to strain any further as their voices where steadily getting louder.

"Goddamn it, Dad, you coulda killed him."

"Dean, I knew what I was doing." Dean let out an expressionless laugh.

"'Knew what you we're doing.' Right, dad, you knew _exactly_ what you were doing. Man, Dad, did you _see_ how many bruises that kid had, because I don't think you did." Sam watched as Dean wiped his face with his hand. There were many emotions on his face, the majority being anger, distress, and anguish. His body language held a protective stance, almost like he was _asking_ for his father to make a move.

Sam stood out of sight from his family as he began to think: Did Dean _know_? John wouldn't just tell him without realizing the consequences. Dean would hate him, no longer see him as a hero, but as a villain. A cold-hearted bastard.

"Dean, I don't want to talk about this anymore. I did what I thought would be better for _my_ family. That was a technique I used when I was younger. It's not my fault Sam couldn't handle it."

Sam watched as Dean pushed John into the cabinet, in such an angle where he could see neither of them. All he could do was listen as the pans clattered and Dean whispered something to John.

"Don't you _dare_ blame my baby brother for this. It was _your_ goddamn fault for being so _fucking_ hard on him."

He pushed John one last time before leaving the kitchen dramatically. Sam was too stunned by John's words, and Dean's tooo for that matter, to react when he saw Dean standing in front of him.

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mmmm.....i always like ending on semi-cliffhangers but you can't _really_ consider that one. The scene isn't uber suspenseful, but, it _is_ fun to read...the emotional ones where Dean is all protective really get to me...lol

**I _particularly_ enjoyed writing this chapter a lot and I hope u enjoy reading it!! **

**REMEMBER TO VOTE ON MY POLL!!!! Need some insight here!!!!**

I _shall_ update soon. I must also update my 2 other stories: "Waiting Hastily" and "Won't Back Down". I would love u for this lifetime _and _the next if you went and checked them out!! You might like one, if not both!! =)

_I would also like to give a shout out to __**jasper03**__ and __**cutelildevil818**__**, **__who have given positive reviews every chapter in "Kill For You". You peeps, along with all the other reviewers, are one of the only reasons I keep writing. Reading everyone's reviews makes me swell with pride and I want to thank you all for making this happen. OOOOOO (hugs)_

**LUV YA!!!!!!!!! Have an awesome NEW YEAR'S!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!**

**REVIEW OR BEWARE THE WRATH OF THE FINGER!!!!!!!!**


	5. Chapter 5

REMEMBER TO TAKE THE NEW POLL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

**Hope you like it!!! U MUST REVIEW!!!!! ****No**** buts! **

_**I LOVE YOU GUYS AS MUCH AS I LOVE MY PET FISH FLUFFY!!!!!!!!**_

P.S- I do not have a fish **=O**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. If I did, well, let's not get into that….. =]**

**----------------------------**

Sam stood there, looking up at Dean emotionlessly. John was right. He was weak, and it was his own damn fault. If he had cared more in hunts, if he had worked harder during training, did less school-related things, he might've ended up as good as Dean, if not better.

John had told it to Dean straight, not beating around the bush once. Unmistakably, he was weak, and John knew it. That must have been the _main_ reason he hated him. Of all the Winchesters, from the past and present, he was always the pathetic one, the weakest link.

He always fucked up a hunt, leaving an injured Dean or John in his wake. Dean never blamed him specifically but he probably knew who was at fault.

Not only did Sam pity himself, but he pitied Dean and John. Having to deal with Sam everyday must've sucked, which had probably been what led to John's fury.

Any day now the same will happen to Dean, and then he will truly be all alone.

Not only were his punishments well-deserved, he welcomed them now. Looking back at all the beatings he has dealt with in his life he realized they made him stronger, in a sense. Yes, he tires more often but he has learned to harden his heart, in a way he could never even think was possible.

Sam is no longer the crybaby he used to be, begging Dean to make the pain go away. That was years ago. Now, he takes both verbal and physical abuse without objection, without complaint.

He looks up at Dean, hiding his emotions with a mask of his own. For the past year, he has used this mask countless times, namely after meeting up with John. Dean hasn't seen through it once.

Dean's eyes held immeasurable amounts of remorse in them. Sam looks into his hazel eyes and felt like he could get lost in them. Dean wrapped his arms around his small waist.

"I'm so sorry, little brother" he whispers into Sam's ear. "You know he didn't mean it."

Sam stood there silently as Dean hugged him, wondering whether Dean actually believed it himself. Sam felt Dean give his body a squeeze, emphasizing his words. Sam isn't sure who he's trying to comfort: Sam or himself.

Sam closes his eyes unconsciously, thinking over Dean's words. Sam knows, without question, that John meant everything he said in the kitchen. What he didn't know was if Dean believes it, too. Is he starting to see John for who he really is, or is he going to overlook John's episode and continue to see him as his hero?

Sam began to think it was the latter. John is everything to Dean, he couldn't just take him out of his life forever; Dean needs him, probably more than he ever needed Sam.

_No probably about it. You're useless, just like John used to say all the time._

Sam had gotten out of the habit of calling John his father. It is an instinct that he has grown into since he was a little boy. The verbal abuse only started when he was nine. John, deciding it was not enough to relinquish his fury and resentment, began hitting him physically at around thirteen.

Sam stayed in his brother's arms, never allowing himself to shed one tear. He bit back all his grief, not daring to look even weaker by breaking.

He felt Dean reposition his arms around him as he urged him into the room they shared. The two brothers walked into their room and sat down on the bed with unity.

Dean set Sam in his lap, letting him rest his head on his shoulder. Sam watched as a lone tear left Dean's eye, rolling down his cheek silently.

Sam reached out with his uninjured hand, and wiped the tear away, a sad smile on his face.

"It's not your fault. He didn't mean it, Sammy. He didn't mean any of it." Dean insisted, quietly urging Sam to believe the hardly believable words. He began smoothing Sam's hair habitually. Sam thought he was doing it to comfort him.

Though, Sam, in reality, was in no need of comfort. All those things John had said, he had already known. He knew how his life would play out and, in the end, would probably end badly.

Dean continued on with his words of comfort, which were probably for him more than Sam. Dean began to rock Sam back and forth on instinct, like he had done years ago when he would have a bad dream.

By now, Sam was fighting back the painful urge to tell Dean everything. It weighed him down, making him feel heavy, droopy. He wanted Dean to know about his own father, but was scared of his reaction. Would he shoot the messenger, or shoot the one who sent him?

Sam stuttered, looking for the words to start it up. He felt Dean watching him closely, evaluating his movements vigilantly. He searched for the right words, but found nothing tangible to grab hold of.

"Sammy, what is it?" His words were laced with concern. Sam could feel it seeping off of him in waves, only giving Sam more of a reason to continue.

By just looking at Sam, he could probably tell he had something fairly important to say. Unknown to Sam, he had perspiration beginning to reveal itself, sweat dripping off his brow. Sam licked his lips nervously, wondering how to begin.

"Sammy?" Sam locked eyes with Dean for a split-second, veiling his true emotions hardly well. Dean's mask was now cracked, withered down to a thin curtain of barely-managed control.

"I…uhh…" Sam let out a long, exasperated sigh. "I just don't know where to start." He let out another, softer sigh as Dean waited patiently. Sam considered just blurting it out. _Dad hits me._ Though it _is_ a bit blunt, how else could he put it? Maybe start with how John likes Dean better? No…

"Umm…" Sam gulped loudly, preparing himself for Dean's reaction.

"Just say it, little man" Dean said, no longer hiding his fear. The horror in his eyes was excruciatingly painful to look at. Sam kept his gaze on the floor, looking at the simple patterns on the carpet.

"What John, _Dad,_ had said back there. He…he meant it all."

"Oh, come on, Sammy, you know he didn't mean any of that. He loves you to much."

Sam shook his head slowly, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. "Dad…hits me."

He felt Dean stiffen, his arms wrapping tightly around his small frame. Sam wasn't sure if Dean was conscious of his actions as he balled his hands into fists, red crescent marks appearing on his palms.

Sam felt Dean's hot, raspy breath on his neck. He could imagine smoke coming out of Dean's ears and nose, tickling his neck and shoulders.

They sat there for a long time, Dean holding onto Sam for a dreadfully long time. Sam was thankful that Dean's breathing was now under control, no longer breathing like a horse.

"How long?" Sam puzzled over the question. How long?

"What? Can you reword the ques-"

"How long has he been hitting you?"

Realization dawned on Sam as he wondered if he should answer it straightforwardly. Dean was no doubt fuming right now, but would he lose it when he said how long? The physical abuse was only a year but John had mistreated him for many years.

"Sam, how long?" he asked again, his voice rising abruptly.

"About a year" Sam said quietly, his voice barely a whisper.

Sam finally decided the worst was over. He was about to look up at Dean to see the damage _he_ had done when he felt something wet on his shoulder. He glanced up at Dean at long last. Tears streaked down his cheeks, falling down his cheek and onto Sam's shoulder.

Sam's heart ached at seeing the pain Dean was going through because of his own selfishness. If he hadn't have said anything Dean would be his protective, hyper-active, pain-in-the-ass big brother.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have-"

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Sam closed his eyes and leaned his head on Dean's shoulder, gathering up what was left of Dean's strength, hoping it would flow into him as well.

"I didn't know how you would react. I was scared." Dean stiffened further, tears still continuing to stream down his face, softly landing on Sam's shirt.

"You were scared…of my reaction?" He felt Dean's anger increase, scaring even Sam. He took his head off his shoulder slowly, hoping not to trigger Dean's anger anymore.

"What, did you think I would hit you, too, Sammy? Huh?" Sam felt his vision blur as his own tears began to reveal themselves.

"No, I swear. That wasn't it" he said, a tear finally slipping down his cheek. "You love Dad _so_ much. I…I didn't want to hurt you."

That did it for Dean. He burst into tears of grief, barely able to breathe from the hyperventilation he was heading toward. He placed his head on Sam's, and began playing with his hair.

"Oh, Sammy. I'm _so_ sorry." Another wave of tears and hiccupping came, halting his words momentarily. After a moment, he managed a few other words.

"I should've known. I'm so sorry." He wrapped his arms further around Sam's waist, hugging him with all his might.

"It's not your fault." Sam said softly, tears once again rolling down his cheeks. Dean seemed to disagree, shaking his head violently against Sam's hair.

"I could've stopped it. Goddamn it, I could've stopped it."

Sam squirmed around in Dean's lap until he was facing Dean. He hugged him tightly, not allowing Dean to pull away, even if he wanted too.

"None of this is your fault. Remember that." Dean said nothing, just enveloped his baby brother into his arms, not giving a care in the world of what was outside the little world they created.

Footsteps could be heard outside the door. Sam held his breath, wondering if John had heard his confession. Dean probably sensed his fear of John's knowledge and began rubbing his back soothingly.

"It's okay, he can't hurt you anymore" he whispered softly. "I won't let him."

Sam nodded, slightly reassured. From past experience, he knew John was well-built, and could never be compared with a scrawny guy like himself. Still, he feared for Dean's safety, and his own. What if John had heard, and went to get rid of the evidence. It was obvious John loved him, but what would he do if Dean had found out? Dean wouldn't just sit around, he would fight back.

John would have to get rid of him.

The footsteps came closer to the room they were cuddled in. Sam's breathing grow unsteady with each step the man took. Dean continued to rub his back, occasionally kissing his hair, hoping to calm him. The footsteps stopped right outside the door.

The doorknob turned slowly, then began to open, revealing a not-so-happy Winchester.

--------------------------

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	6. Chapter 6

REMEMBER TO TAKE THE NEW POLL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

**Hope you like it!!! U MUST REVIEW!!!!! ****No**** buts! **

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P.S- I do not have a fish **=O**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. If I did, well, let's not get into that….. =]**

**--------------------**

John appeared at the door, visibly fuming on the inside and out.

"What are you two talking about?" John's voice was surprisingly steady, keeping most of the hostility out of his voice. Yet, his tongue was still dripping with venom, clearly ready to strike out at his next prey.

Sam clutched at the front of Dean's shirt tightly, fear clawing at him viciously. It's not that he was scared for himself, but for Dean. Even if John had no weapon, he wasn't sure Dean could take him, even with Sam's help. But, what if John had a knife?

Sam allowed his mind to empty the useless "what if" questions. _What if_ a car fell on top of John's head now? _What if_ the entire town blew up? These particular questions were just not logical. The mind could conjure up any hallucination it wanted, whether it was practical or not.

Sam felt a sense of peace as Dean tightened his grip around Sam protectively. He stole a glance at Dean to see him shaking violently, quite noticeable actually. He looked ready to lash out at the nearest person, and he hoped it wasn't himself.

Sam knew who Dean's prey would be. It would be the man who ruined Sam's life, possibly scarring him till the day he died. Sam looked back up at John. His eyes burned holes through him, the menacingly look in his eyes haunting Sam in ways he didn't think possible.

Sam turned his gaze toward the ground, waiting for one of the men to do something, _anything._ This tension was unbearable. He didn't know how much more he could take until he lost what was left of his sanity.

Dean continued to tremble, quivering as he ruffled Sam's hair softly. His eyes never left John, watching him with a look of pure evil. After looking Dean in the eye, Sam wouldn't doubt it if someone told him he was the devil himself.

"How could you?" Dean began quietly, daring John to make a move.

John sighed, his shoulders rolling up as he inhaled. He exhaled loudly, his shoulders slowly going back into place. "You know just as well as anyone that he needed discipline."

"What?" Dean shouted irately. Dean jumped off the bed, making Sam nearly fall to the floor. He gained his balance quickly, muttering under his breath as Dean closed in on John.

Sam prayed silently to whoever was up there, watching over them. He prayed Dean would make it out of whatever was going to happy today _alive_.

"You think _my _baby brother doesn't have discipline? That's _fucking_ bullshit!"

John did not flinch as Dean screamed in his face, fully composed, probably already expecting his reaction. John continued to stare Dean down, as he was taller than the other Winchester.

"You think I'm lying, boy? I'm doing what's best for this family. Whether you think it's the right thing to do is _not_ my problem. Son, you have to stop babying the kid, he's fourteen."

John didn't have time to take a breath by the time he was done. Dean got a solid hit on John's jaw, nearly knocking him to the ground. John stared at him wide-eyed as he put a hand to his jaw, attempting to rid himself of the throbbing pain.

The throbbing pain Sam has been feeling since he was thirteen.

"So it's gotta be that way, does it? Fine, we'll do it your way."

John strode over to Dean, strategically looking for a vantage point to get an open shot. Dean got in a protective stance, purposely putting himself in between Sam and John.

Sam watched in awe as Dean stuck up for him, actually _fighting_ his own father, his hero. Sam felt a sense of security fill him as he watched the fight progress. Dean was willing to fight, maybe even kill, his biggest admirer just to protect Sam. Sam allowed himself to smile for a half a second as he watched Dean get a clean shot to John's gut, making him gasp in pain.

He thought of joining in to help Dean out, but realized he would be more of a nuisance than anything else. So he stood in the sidelines, quietly analyzing their movements.

They moved flawlessly, blocking and punching with a force unknown to Sam. He wasn't even close to being that strong, and probably never would be.

John through a swift punch at Dean. He dodged the brunt of it, allowing it to only graze his shoulder. Dean hissed but made no other noise as he spun around, ready for another assault. John grabbed hold of Dean's leg with him own, flinging him to the ground in a festive manner. He took a knife out of his pocket, it magically appearing in his hand.

Sam gasped as he eyed the shiny object. John placed it under Dean's neck. Sam watched Dean stiffen as the knife made contact with his skin, but was held in place so to not break the skin.

"Get up." John said roughly, in no mood for argument. Dean got up slowly, the knife never receding. John pulled him up the rest of the way, heaving him off the floor.

John glanced over at Sam. Sam gulped. Only John could make a look of glee look so damn menacing.

Dean struggled in John's arms, fighting for dominance. John pushed the knife further onto his throat. He stopped all movement.

Sam saw Dean look over to him, as if trying to reassure him, telling him with his eyes that everything would be okay.

"So what happens next?" Dean asked, physically struggling to stay upright from exhaustion.

John smiled another menacing look, glancing over to Sam, then back at Dean.

"I'm not really sure. Let's just play it by ear, shall we?"

Dean didn't respond as he was dragged over to the edge of the bed. John grabbed some rope from his back pocket. He tied the rope on Dean's hand and then got another rope, and tied the other hand to the wooden post at the front of the bed.

Sam studied Dean as his anger seemed to slowly diminish, only leaving him with a mass of sadness and distress. Guilt rid Sam's body like a tidal wave. If he hadn't have told Dean he wouldn't be in this fucked up predicament. Everything would be back to the way it was.

"I thought you would be on my side on matters like these. But, then again, why would I keep it from you if you didn't like my methods of supremacy.

Dean seemed to inwardly curl up into himself, depression seeping through his veins. He wasn't enraged anymore, or, at least, he didn't _look_ it.

That's one of the things that got Sam. Physical appearance could be whatever you wanted it to be when, in reality, it could reveal the exact opposite of what someone was thinking. Dean could be screaming his lungs off, but only on the inside. If he were, Sam couldn't tell.

Dean shook from exhaustion, his mask broken completely. He pulled one knee to his chest, while the other hung idly off the bed. He placed his elbow on his knee, and rested his head into his hand. He rubbed at his face wearily.

"Why?" Dean's voice was laced with extreme sadness, probably on the urge of tears. Sam felt like crying at the state his brother was in. He didn't know if Dean would ever fully recover after this.

"Every human needs someone to keep the other in check." John got out a handkerchief from his back pocket and began cleaning the blade, though it looked perfectly usable to Sam. After mere seconds, John looked away from the knife as he glanced back up at Dean. "_I_ was that human for Sammy."

Sam felt sick. John had done all the things he had because that's what he thought was _right_ for Sam. John believed his punishments would help him in the long run, make him learn discipline, to be stronger.

Dean didn't seem to appreciate the words either. He seethed in anger, hissing at his "hero" of a father.

John had an heir of indifference, not really caring for their reaction. He looked up at Sam.

"Come here."

Sam stood there, planted on the spot. Why would John want him to go to him? To kill him?

Sam hesitated, and then slowly crept toward John. All the while, Dean had been cursing and swearing for Sam not to. But Sam wasn't stupid. Dean was the one tied up to the bedpost, not him. John could carve him up without moving a finger.

"That's it, Sammy, come on."

Sam flinched at hearing his nickname, but otherwise said nothing. Under normal circumstances, he only allowed Dean to call him that.

He glanced over at Dean. He gave Sam a small wink, as if trying to tell him _It's okay, baby brother, I have a plan. _Sam puzzled over what he could possibly do, but, in the end, he realized he probably wouldn't know until it actually occurred. I mean, come on, he's _Dean._

He reached John, tentatively walking in front of him. John grinned maliciously, and Dean glared at John as he did so, boring holes in his back.

Sam gulped as John grabbed onto his hand fiercely. He let a small whimper escape his lips as the man further tightened his hold on him. He felt the blood loss his hand was suffering, slowly turning a bluish tint.

"What the hell are you doing? Stop it!" Dean cried out in agony. Sam glanced over at Dean, surprised by his outburst. He was reaching his hand into his back pocket. Once again, their eyes locked, and Dean winked before taking out a small knife from his pocket.

Sam managed to keep his delight hidden, straining himself to keep his gaze away from Dean as he cut himself loose.

John was now moving swiftly, dragging him out of the room, Sam kicking at John the whole time. He heard the bed creak as Dean got off the bed, but John did not seem to hear, for he continued as fierce as ever.

Sam felt like crying as his father hauled him against his will. Even if Dean was there to save him, realizing their own father was ready to kill them without a seconds notice scared him. No, it terrified him. Were all parents like that? Was the world such a cruel place that all parents treated their children in such a brutal manner?

He looked up as Dean came running, unbelievably quiet, as he trailed behind them. Dean held his finger to his mouth, initiating a very quiet Sam.

John paused in all his rage to unlock the front door, getting ready to swing the door open. Dean took that as an opening as he silently, yet swiftly, ran toward John, knife in hand. John turned around just in time to see Dean thrusting a knife into his stomach.

John's deafening gasp seemed to scare Dean even more than the actually stabbing. He seemed to be in some sort of shock. Sam felt guilt surge through. Making Dean kill his own father, he would never forgive himself for. If he had just not said anything, Dean wouldn't have to deal with any of this.

Sam buried his face in his hands, tears rolling down his cheeks. This was all his fault. He wished he could rewind time; reverse everything he ever said about John, so Dean could live a normal life (what they considered normal.)

He felt someone envelope him slowly. Sam nearly jumped, looking for the culprit. It had been Dean; he was seated behind him on the floor, hugging him till his heart's content. Sam smiled. No matter what he made his brother go through, he would always be there for him.

"Come on, Sammy, let's go get some ice cream."

Sam smiled even wider. Only Dean would think of ice cream at a time like this. The left the motel room, leaving John on the floor, still gasping for the air that wasn't there.

----------------------------

**Not really sure if that's the last chapter….let me know if it should be continued…..**

HOPE U LIKED IT!!!!! This chapter seems to be longer than usual, too!!!!!!!!! YAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

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	7. Chapter 7

REMEMBER TO TAKE THE NEW POLL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

**Hope you like it!!! U MUST REVIEW!!!!! ****No**** buts! **

_**I LOVE YOU GUYS AS MUCH AS I LOVE MY PET FISH FLUFFY!!!!!!!!**_

P.S- I do not have a fish **=O**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. If I did, well, let's not get into that….. =]**

Dean and Sam arrived at the motel room to see John lying in the middle of the room, blood surrounding his terminally pale corpse.

"Guess I should bury him."

"I'll help-"

Dean spun around, already knowing Sam would offer his assistance. "No, you won't. You're gonna sit your ass there and wait for me to get back."

Sam sighed. Ever since Dean had found out he had been stubborn as hell, barely letting him pick up a fork by himself, much less bury a body.

Sam watched, intrigued, as Dean put John's corpse on his back, and carried it out the door. The area they were living in may have been slightly isolated, but that doesn't mean no one would see that. Sam continued to watch as he dumped the body in his trunk and slammed it down. Sam looked around the area, skeptical that no one say that.

Sam sighed as Dean drove off, heading to the nearest graveyard. It would be a quick burial, and Dean would probably not be nearly enough respectful to John's memory. He may not have been the best gentleman, but he was still their father, and that in itself needs to be shown reverence. Ever since finding out his and John's secret, he had grown inward, rarely ever talking. It was as if he had swallowed himself whole, all that was left being shitty, second-rate features. He was no longer the happy-go-lucky big brother he used to have, and it terrified him. To think that this was all Sam's fault was tearing him apart inside, leaving nothing but voided spaces he couldn't seem to fill.

Nearly five minutes later, Dean drove up, and parked the Impala into one of the many open spaces in front of the motel. Sam watched as he got out in a hurry, slamming the car door shut. Sam winced_. Dean would never do that to his "baby". _

Sam stayed where he was as watched, through the window, as Dean unlocked the door. He marched into the room, and immediately began gathering his belongings.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. What the-"

"Just pack."

Sam stood, slightly stunned by Dean's demeanor. Seconds later, Dean gave him another glance, his menacing look making Sam abruptly stiffen. Dean turned back to his things, gathering everything into whatever he could carry shit with, whether it be bags, cases, or fish tanks.

Sam got off the chair, winced slightly as he ran his injured hand into the table, and stood up. He swiftly began packing up his belongings as well, questions racing through his mind.

What could have possibly happened at the graveyard to make Dean behave this way? Yes, they traveled a lot, and it was expected that they would move soon anyway, but not like _this_.

Maybe John was never dead to begin with. Besides, it had only been a stomach wound. Sam mused over it further, the information not adding up. It wouldn't make any sense. They had made sure he was dead before leaving. Further more, there had been blood _everywhere_. It had to be something else.

_But what?_

Sam and Dean continued to pack in silence, stuffing what little they owned into their respective bags. Dean through a cloth at Sam, hitting him in the back of his head as it fell to the floor.

"Swipe everything. We need to get rid of our fingerprints."

Sam did as he was told, and began wiping off the furniture.

"Hey Dean, what's going on?"

Dean continued to swipe everything down, not showing in the slightest that he had heard. Sam sighed, realizing his brother was doing it on purpose. He didn't want to voice what was happening because it probably involved Sam, whether it was directly or indirectly.

_Maybe some of John's friends saw Dean with his body. They're probably out for some sort of payback._

Once everything was swiped and the luggage packed, they gathered all their things into the Impala. Sam watched as Dean hurried into the driver's seat, and, in return, made Sam also speed up his pace.

He jumped in the Impala, Dean getting in a second before him. Without a word, he drove out of the parking lot, speeding off onto the street.

Sam sat silently for a moment, allowing Dean his space to let off some steam. He only waited about a minute.

"What's going on, Dean?"

Dean's knuckles were white, losing all previous color. Fear brewed in Sam's stomach, slowly being distributed to the rest of his body. _What could have possibly happened to make Dean act this way?_

Dean heaved a long, weary sigh. "While I was digging the hole to put Dad in his phone went off." His grip on the wheel grew impossibly stronger, his knuckles chalk white. "Someone had texted him. They asked…" Dean couldn't seem to go on, and Sam wasn't sure if he would.

Dean seemed to choke on an invisible ball of lint. It didn't seem like he would say anymore. Sam wanted to urge him to continue, but decided against, knowing he would tell him if it's important.

"They asked 'Did you get rid of them yet?'." Dean's voice cracked. Tears filled his eyes. He was in too much pain to continue, even if he wanted to.

Sam watched in agony as his brother broke down, slowly ebbing away. He has dealt with so much in his life, and now he finds out his father is an abusive bastard that had just planned to kill them.

"I tried to ignore the message and just kept digging. After I had placed him in the hole his phone went off again. 'John?!?' After a few moments another one came... 'We're coming to get you', they said."

Dean's anger was one big mass of hatred, clinging to his body, and then lashing out at Sam out of spite.

"So...do they know John's dead yet?"

"Probably. Right now, my best bet is they're in our motel room."

"When they see us gone…will they come after us."

Dean kept his eyes on the road, but nodded, as if in physical pain to tell his brother such an awful truth.

Sam sighed, running his hands through his long, chocolate brown hair. His life, and Dean's, was full of so many agonizing events it wasn't even funny. Sam felt his eyes fill with tears as his vision began to blur. They were both _so_ screwed up. Would they ever fully heal, or will they always, until the end of time, be scarred from this horrid nightmare.

He felt his tears gently being wiped away by a coarse, nevertheless gentle, hand. He looked up to see Dean giving him a small smile. Sam returned a smile of his own, making Dean's smile widen further. Just by looking at Dean, he _knew_ they would get through this, and he could tell Dean was thinking the same thing. Not because they were Winchesters. Not because they were experts at pain. Hell, not because they were brothers. But because they were there.

--------END--------

------------------------

HOPE U LIKED IT!!!!! **Be watching for a sequel!!!!! Haven't decided yet, but there might be!!!!**

I would love u for this lifetime _and _the next if you went and checked out my other stories!! You might like one, if not both!! =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =) =)

**P.S.- I'm a maniac with polls because, guess what, I have made **_**another**_** poll!!! Please take the time to answer it! (The new one asks what my next story should be about….)**

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**TAKE THE POLL! TAKE THE POLL! TAKE THE POLL! TAKE THE POLL**_**!**_** TAKE THE POLL! TAKE THE POLL! TAKE THE POLL! TAKE THE POLL**_**!**_


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